


Sparring Session

by SerpenLupus



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Sparring, a very quick thing, but there isn't any violence really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpenLupus/pseuds/SerpenLupus
Summary: Sexual tension at the Shadopan Monastery, when they were enemies no more, but not friends yet.





	Sparring Session

**Author's Note:**

> Written in one go, so I'm sorry if you find any mistakes :S

The training room had been empty for a good half hour now, the monks having left for dinner or rest already, but Tyrathan remains. He feels like he needs to practice more the movements they had been employing that day, since they have been so focused on unarmed combat against a bigger foe. The threat of the Zandalari across Pandaria is very real, and although he is used to keep and dispatch his enemies from a distance, he can’t deny the usefulness in the techniques the Shadopan had developed against the Mogu.

-Be it not too late for ya to be here?

Without breaking his stance, the man looks at Vol’jin, standing cross armed at the room’s entrance. He is still wearing the usual monk training clothes, minus the shirt. He hadn’t been wearing it all day, and it is a bit distracting, but other monk trained bare chested too, so he doesn’t really have reasons to complain - I could say the same for you.

The troll shrugs and advances into the room - I be not feelin’ ready for rest just yet.

The man relaxes his posture a bit, stretching back his arms - I guess neither of us are.

-... ya be insistin’ with today’s lesson.

-I am - Vol’jin stops a good distance from him, in the middle of the room. Tyrathan offers him a half smile - does that surprise you?

-No. But I be seein’ what ya can be doin’ with tha bow and... I be tinkin’ ya not gonna risk goin’ too close.

The man is pretty sure that the Darkspear was about to say “and you’re too small to fight unarmed against a Zandalari”, but decides to answer him with the truth anyway - I want to be ready for anything, especially if one of our enemies sneaks upon me and I am left with few options. Even if “trolls don’t sneak” - he adds, his half smile growing at the use of that sentence the Troll had shared with him, not so long ago.

Vol’jin huffs - Zandalari be desperate enough to try and sneak upon ya - he says, rolling his shoulders in that way that one can see the workings of the tendons and muscles under his skin. - I be tinkin’ I can be helpin’ ya.

That catches Tyrathan off guard for a moment - haven’t you interpreted the big bad Zandalari enough for today? - He would have sworn the Monks had left a good number of bruises on him from today’s training… but of course. Troll regeneration.

-If it gonna be helpin’ ya kill our enemies, I be not mindin’ - he takes a couple steps forward - and as I be sayin’ before, I be not feelin’ ready for restin’ just yet. Unless… ya be tinkin’ otherwise.

That’s a challenge. And the hunter is perfectly happy to answer it. 

-Thank you for the help then - he says, stretching his arms forward this time, and preparing himself.

They start simple, just like the monks have taught them; Use the weight and strength of your enemy against them, or attack their weak points to exploit a disadvantage. Simple enough on paper, much harder to put in practice, and Vol’jin doesn’t make it easier.

Both begin a bit tense, as if they are unsure of how to handle themselves around the other. But, after some attempts, Tyrathan understands that the troll is not going to go down if he isn’t going to use all of his strength, just like with a real enemy, and the Darkspear is surprised and delighted in how fiercely the human will try to do so after they get the handle of it. 

Their tension gives way to a strange dynamic that they find they’re perfectly comfortable with. Each time one manages to take down the other, they ask “do you yield?”, separate, comment or tease about their right or wrong move, and then go at it again. There’s touching, grabbing and pushing in their fight, but there’s no aggressivity, no enmity, no… hate, about the way they want to beat the other. It’s… almost refreshing, relaxing, this playful rivalry between them. 

They lose track of time in their sparring, and although they are becoming a bit tired, sweaty, and sore, they don’t really feel like stopping. Up until, at one point, Tyrathan manages to knock down Vol’jin, but a sharp pain in his bad leg stops him from properly taking advantage of the move and pin down the Troll, and the Darkspear uses the momentum to turn them around, pining the human against the ground.

Both try to catch their breath, chests heaving, and time seems to stop around them as they’re staring each other in the eye. Vol’jin is in between the hunter’s legs, holding his forearms against the stone, but the man’s back is not laying on the ground, rather, he is half standing, trying to resist the force keeping him down. And this position has them barely a few inches away from the other.

This close, Tyrathan can appreciate things that he usually wouldn’t be able to, like how the amber in Vol’jin’s eyes is a bit darker on the edges of his irises, or how much has the short hair around his messy mohawk actually grown since he arrived at the Monastery. And that scent, that he has almost grown accustomed to these past months, is now intense, intoxicating, almost to a point of insanity.

Vol’jin swallows, drawing the hunter’s attention to his neck and windpipe, and collarbone, and…

-Do ya yield? - he asks, drawing the man’s eyes back to that intense gaze. He stays still and silent, a defiant part of him refusing to surrender. 

Another moment passes, and the troll does the unexpected, letting go of one of his forearms and going closer, tusks sliding across each side of Tyrathan’s face (a perfect fit), until their noses touch. Some strands of that wildfire red hair fall forward, touching the hunter’s face in something very similar to a caress, and this time is the man that swallows nervously. His free hand slowly comes up, nearly touching Vol’jin’s face, and the Troll asks again, voice barely above a whisper. - Do ya yield… Tyrathan?

The man grabs Vol’jin’s beard and finally makes him close the distance, lips crashing together. The troll lets go of the other arm, surrounding the man’s middle with his own, lifting him up to reach his mouth easier, and Tyrathan buries his fingers into that red hair and makes it even messier, using his hold to deepen the kiss and maneuver around the other’s big nose. 

Both try to take the lead between bites and gasps, tasting and exploring the corners of each other’s mouth in their heated kiss, until the sound of someone loudly clearing his throat freezes them in place. Both open their eyes in shock, and both look at the room’s entrance at the same time, finding Taran Zhu, calmly standing, with his hands at his back.

-It’s a bit late, for you to be training.

Both human and troll hurry to tear away from each other and stand, brushing off the dust in their clothing in a weak attempt at regaining their composure.

-Apologies, Lord Taran Zhu. We, um… got carried away - that’s the understatement of the century, but after being busted like two horny teenagers by the Lord of the Shadopan, Tyrathan doesn’t feel like speaking much. He casts a side glance at his companion, who appears to not be very preoccupied by the presence of the elder Pandaren, until he notices how his ears are casted downwards. Good thing he is not the only one embarrassed by their… interruption.

-Is that so… regardless, both mind an body need rest for the trials that are ahead of us. So I suggest you two retire for tonight. - There’s a severe, but bening, tone behind those words, and the two outsiders decide to obey. They offer Taran Zhu a deep bow, and then they exit the training room, walking silently to the cell quarters.

When their paths separate, they go each way without saying a word, but after a few steps, Tyrathan looks back, and is surprised to see Vol’jin looking back at him. They stay still for a few instants, looking at each other across the corridor, until the smile tugging at their lips wins the battle, and becomes a laugh that they try to keep down for respect of their sleeping companions.

**Author's Note:**

> I should have posted this for April fools xD  
> But the inspiration didn't arrive sooner, so, here we are.  
> Taran Zhu is the ultimate Tyrajin shipper, but even he can't let them make out in a public place. Please, this is a monastery you guys.


End file.
